No Rain, No Rainbow
by messy heart
Summary: She hasn't seen the guy in two years and all of a sudden he's sitting there in the setting summer sun, with a huge ass duffel bag beside him and a nervous smile.


**No Rain, No Rainbows**

For a second, she thinks she might be dreaming. That's the only thing her brain can come up with as a feasible explanation to why Fredward Benson is sitting on her porch swing. She hasn't seen the guy in two years and all of a sudden he's sitting there in the setting summer sun, with a huge ass duffel bag beside him and a nervous smile.

Seriously. He's a figment of her imagination.

Except he speaks. "Hey, Sam." And even offers a small friendly wave.

"What the... Freddie? What in the world are you doing here?"

He stands up and shoves both his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "I came to see you. I thought that much was obvious."

"Yeah, obviously, but _shit_ you're not one for spontaneous three thousand mile trips, Benson, so forgive me for being surprised."

"Isn't it weird that people always think of long distances as three? Like three hundred miles or three thousand miles?" He grins at her, pulling on her hand until she's standing in the circle of his arms. "New York isn't _that_ far from Hawaii."

But it's far enough for you not to see me for two years, she wants to say but she doesn't. Instead she returns the tight hug, and it occurs to her then that he's gotten a lot taller than should be allowed. The top of her head barely reaches his chin. But he's also tinier somehow, as if he's folded into himself—thinner in all the wrong ways. She desperately wants to cry but she doesn't. She just takes a deep breath.

(And prays that it'll last her forever.)

"Does Carly know you're here?" she can't help but ask.

His answer is a shrug and a sad smile and an equally sad "We broke up." She tries not to think about it too much, tries not to dissect what this could all mean because she'll just drive herself crazy with all those theories of what this and that could signify. It's a bit painful, however, when she realizes that Carly, her best friend, didn't even tell her that she'd broken up with her boyfriend of five years. They're still good friends, talking over the phone when they can and exchanging emails. Why she would keep something this big from Sam is disheartening, but she's trying not to read into any of this.

So she gives her what she can only hope is a sympathetic smile and pulls herself away from him to unlock the door.

"How long are you staying?" she asks once they're inside her tiny living room and she can tell that he's relieved that the question isn't one about the recently failed relationship.

He shrugs, placing his bag on her cream-colored sofa. "I don't know. I'm trying to figure some stuff out. Thought that visiting you here in lovely O'ahu would be a good place to do that. If you have space to spare, of course."

She nods enthusiastically, moving to the adjoining kitchen to make them some tea. "Stay as long as you need, nub." Her home is rather small but idyllic. Her version of idyllic, at least. There's a blossoming hibiscus shrub at the front of the house and a pineapple patch at the back which also offers a view of the vast glittering ocean. Kinda. If you squint _maybe_ you'll see it. It needs some work, sure, work she doesn't exactly have time for but it's home. Her very own home that she's paying rent with her very own money.

Soon the kettle is on the stove and she's standing in front of her empty fridge, trying to figure out what to cook for dinner. What does one cook for a brokenhearted friend? Ice cream? She shakes her head. No, that's not right. "How about we go out for dinner?" she suggests as she closes the refrigerator door. "We can celebrate your first night here? Get a couple of drinks, too."

"You don't have anything in your fridge, do you?"

"I have spam," she answers defensively, folding her arms in front of her.

"Spam?"

"You'll understand spam eventually."

She goes ahead and freshens up first and then fixes the tea while Freddie uses the bathroom. Her mobile is sitting on the kitchen counter quite innocently minding its own business, unknowingly torturing her with the ability to call Carly in New York. Groaning she concentrates on getting out the teacups and spoons.

"She didn't want it to be awkward."

"Right. Because telling your best friend that you broke up with your boyfriend just spells awkward." No matter how much she tries, the sarcasm is still there and the attempt at humor is lost.

He sighs and it sounds tired and burdened and she just wants to take back the words but life never did work that way, no matter how much she prayed. Silence invades the tiny home as she arranges everything onto a tray and carries it to the living room to place on the coffee table. It feels uncomfortable. Unfamiliar. This isn't who they are but neither of them know who they're supposed to be. It's been two years since she last saw either of her best friends.

"At least tell me you got the ring back," she says without thinking and she's rewarded with a genuine laugh for her bluntness.

For the rest of the night they make a sort of silent agreement to only talk of good things like... how med school at Columbia is slowly killing him but it's rewarding or something like that and her putting a down payment on her very first brand new car.

"I've always wanted a Jeep," she reasons as she traces the tip of her martini glass. "And brand new car... It feels like a big accomplishment, you know? Like I'm finally growing up."

"But you're not supposed to grow up."

A crumpled up table napkin hits him square on the forehead. "What's that supposed to mean, Frednerd?" She raises an eyebrow at him in question.

He laughs and makes a show of rubbing the place she hit. "This. This is who you are! Sam, when you start growing up then how are the rest of us supposed to hold on to that child inside of us?"

"Super glue," she says after a while, grinning widely before downing the contents of her martini. "Cotton candy and... sweet dreams."

...

It's a couple of days after Freddie's arrival and Sam's arms are laden with grocery bags. With her hip, she pushes the rickety gate to her front lawn. To say that she's surprised to find that it swings effortlessly on its hinges is an understatement. Upon closer inspection, her entire picket fence appears to have been mended—everything straight and where it should be.

"Freddie?" she calls out once she's entered the house. She hears the shower running, puts two and two together and goes about putting the groceries away except for the ingredients she'll be using to make dinner. "Lemon chicken sound okay?" she asks when she hears the bathroom door open.

There's a bit of shuffling down the hallway before he comes to a stop a couple of feet away from her. He's clad in a pair of khaki shorts, a mischievous smile and nothing else. "What now, Mister Fix It?" she asks, focusing on cutting up the chicken. "No more jokes about how 'domesticated' I am or else no dinner for your skinny ass and heaven knows your skinny ass is desperate for mama's good food."

"You're no fun," he huffs before moving to the living room. Something is unzipped and a few minutes later he reappears with a blue polo shirt on. "Need help?"

She points to the backdoor. "How about a pineapple for dessert?"

"Sounds good," he replies but remains standing in the same place.

A couple of minutes pass and he's still there, leaving Sam to wonder if he even understood what she's asking him to do. For all that Freddie's smart, he still has the tendency to be a little clueless. "There are pineapples outside," she finally explains when he doesn't appear to have any intentions of moving, "Just pick one you want. They should all be ripe by now anyway."

Finally, movement is achieved as Freddie goes out into the backyard. While she's drenching the chicken in flour, he comes back looking rather confused and empty-handed. "Okay, I've never noticed this before but you have pineapples growing out of your plants."

"That's because they're pineapple plants, nub." She laughs, washing her hands in the sink before grabbing a knife from a kitchen drawer. She hands him the knife and tugs on his other hand. "Come along, kid. We'll be dining on pineapple tonight!"

There are ten pineapple plants arranged in two straight and even rows. When Sam first moved in two years ago, the backyard was bare and her landlady, Auntie Helen, suggested planting pineapple crowns to get something of a garden going. She was told they would take a while and they did, but it felt good when they finally sprouted with fruit and now they're fully grown.

She shows him how to harvest the pineapple, cutting the fruit carefully from the stalk. She has two pineapples on the ground before she lets Freddie have a go at it. He's always been a quick learner and soon all ten pineapples are chilling on her back porch.

"I can see why you moved. I didn't understand it at first. You took to New York like it was no one's business." He shrugs as they continue at the view of the setting sun. "That city was you, you know?"

"Brash and exciting?" she jokes, wiping her hands on the back of her jeans.

He shakes his head. "But this is more you, isn't it?"

"I don't know, honestly," Sam answers truthfully. "I just thought that... I needed a change. Am I sorry that I left New York? Not really. I'm sorry I left you and Carly, though. I mean, look at you. Already falling apart at the seams without me." She catches him rolling his eyes but he's still smiling and she takes this as a good sign to continue. "The truth is, I've depended on the two of you for too long. I needed to be my own person for once. Just needed to be Sam. Whoever that person is."

"And who is this Sam-person that you speak of?"

"Well, for starters she's beautiful. Seriously drop dead gorgeous." Freddie nudges her a little and she answers back with a shove that throws him a little off balance. "She plants pineapples and is patient enough to wait for them to grow. She doesn't own a television—"

"I was going to ask about that!"

"And she has a pretty cool job as a preschool teacher and holds summer workshops for the kids—"

"I was going to ask about that, too!"

"She drives a brand new Jeep, lives in a small house with a great view, still loves ham and all things pork, and has great taste in friends, men and clothes. Her life is simple and she loves it. Only complicated by people dropping in unexpectedly."

And because Freddie Benson can sometimes be a slow learner, too, he nudges her again and this time Sam sends him to the ground, landing on his ass.

"Complicated but fun," she says, walking back to the house. "Thanks for fixing the fence!"

...

Her mobile is ringing. It's in the middle of the night and her mobile is ringing. With a groan, Sam rolls over in bed and peers at the nighttable where her digital clock informs her that it is, in fact, 3:35 in the effin' morning. But it's Carly calling and she's been waiting for this call for a week and a half now so she doesn't think twice about answering.

"Sam, I know Freddie's there... You gotta make him come back."

"Good morning to you too, Carly, who lives in New York and doesn't seem to realize that there's a farking five-hour time difference between us!"

Carly sighs softly. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just that this is really urgent, okay?"

"Carly!" she whispers harshly so as not to wake up Freddie. "I can't believe you! I have to hear from Freddie that you two are broken up and he had to fly here to tell me because you couldn't call me to tell me yourself, but you find calling me in the middle of the night to be a convenient time for you? Seriously, Carly?"

"Sam," Sam hears her best friend take a deep breath, "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? But I didn't know what to do with myself after it happened. I was so confused and... I was a little ashamed, okay? I didn't know why he ended it—"

"Wait what?" Sam cuts in as she pushes herself into a sitting position. "He broke it off with you?"

There's a pause that follows her question and it's uncomfortable and telling.

"Is that what he told you?"

Sam's heart almost breaks at the words said so softly. "No... He hasn't spoken to me about it yet," she confesses and it's a laced with a bit of guilt, "But he knows I assume that it was your doing and he never corrected me. What's going on, Carly? You gotta tell me. I'm in the middle of this now and I need to understand."

"Okay."

And finally Carly tells her everything. Things she should have known a while ago. She tells Sam about how one day she comes home to their apartment and finds that Freddie has all his things packed. Everything. How he sat her down and explained that he couldn't do it anymore and it wasn't because of Carly and there wasn't a third person involved. He told her that he would love her no matter what and that maybe, someday, they would have a future together but now.

"I was too ashamed to tell you because... I felt relieved."

"Relieved?"

There's another pause that's a little longer than the first and worries Sam. Her grip on her mobile tightens and she bites on her lower lip.

"I was thinking it, thinking of breaking up with him. I've been with the guy for five years and I've known him for far longer than that... I don't know what changed but _something_ changed. He couldn't explaining it to me and I can't explain it to myself either."

She wishes that she was in New York so she can strangle the answers out of Carly. Her curiosity needs to be fed, needs to be satisfied. Except all she has is silence from one and half-answers from the other. How is she supposed to fix this?

"How do I fix this?"

"Fix what?"

She can't help the small growl that passes between her lips. "You and Freddie! What the hell, Carly? You two were made for each other!" That's what she's told herself for forever. Forever. "You're like... ham and pineapple!"

"Ham and pineapple?"

"They're kinda my favorite things now, okay? Like you two are..." Sam closes her eyes in defeat. "I've never really believed in love, you know? For me, the one true thing you can ever feel is... hurt. I have a shelf full of bottled up feelings and emotions because I'm often too scared to _try_ knowing that I'll get hurt eventually. But you two, you found each other. You're in love with each other. I _need _you to be together."

"Sam," Carly says and there's a sadness there that breaks her heart. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

"No, Sam. I'm _sorry_."

Tears prick her eyes and she blinks in the darkness, trying desperately to push them back to wherever they came from. Because this isn't who she is. She's not Sam Cries A Lot.

"Listen to me, Sam. I'm so sorry. For everything." The way she says it makes Sam think that she's apologizing for far more than what the conversation could contain. "I was selfish. I've always been. I was so concerned with my happiness all the time but now I need for you to be happy. I need Freddie to be happy, too."

Honestly, she doesn't know what Carly is talking about but she lets out a teary laugh, one returned by her best friend with an equal amount of tears. "I'm happy, Carls. I promise. And you're not selfish. You're the least selfish person I know."

"If you only knew, Samantha Puckett," Carly replies rather ominously, "If you only knew."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." She pauses and something clicks in her head. "Wait, I almost forgot to ask. Why do I need to send the geek home? If you don't wanna get back with him..."

"He's a med student, Sam."

"I know, but it's summer so—"

Carly cuts her off with a sigh. "Yeah, but he doesn't get a summer break. He's missed almost two weeks of classes, Sam."

"Oh."

...

She doesn't know what to do. It's been four whole days since Carly's call and for the first time in her life—okay, second time if one wanted to get all technical—she doesn't know how to talk to Freddie or even a clue as to how to broach the subject. He's in danger of being dropped from med school, something she's sure he's aware of and he has yet to open up about anything pertaining to what brought him to Kailua.

So she brings him to Mark, her gay friend who works as a bartender at a restaurant near Kailua Beach Park. If anyone can solve a problem is a gay bartender. They have the answers to everything. When Sam was looking for a place to stay, she had walked into the restaurant, sat at the bar and walked out with a promise from Mark to introduce her to his Auntie Helen.

They're sitting at the bar when she orders a bottle of tequila from Mark.

"A whole bottle? You sure, honey?" Mark asks, eyebrow raised, to which she levels him with a hard stare. "All right, but hand over the keys first. No offense, Freddie, but you look like a lightweight."

Freddie chuckles. "No offense taken. You're right after all," he admits, "I've never been much for alcohol."

"Yeah, but you're drinking it anyway," Sam grunts and motions for Mark to start filling the shot glasses. "Alcohol loosens the tongue."

Freddie looks at her, confusion evident in his eyes. "Whose tongue needs loosening?"

"Yours, Benson. Mark, a shot for the lovely lady."

...

The plan backfires, of course. They both get drunk and she doesn't remember anything about the rest of the evening, only that she may or may not have forgotten her shoes at the restaurant but she's pretty sure she didn't throw up. What she needs to know, however, is why she's waking up in the same bed with Freddie and both of them barely dressed.

She almost doesn't make it to the toilet before spewing the remaining contents of her stomach. It takes a good several minutes before she feels strong enough to get back on her feet. She ends up crawling to the kitchen.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

For a moment, she thinks that her guardian angel has come down from heaven to cook breakfast for her. Instead it's the equally lovely Mark wielding a frying pan over her stove. Her throat is entirely too sore to be talking so she rolls over onto her back in the middle of the kitchen and points weakly at the fresh pot of a coffee.

"I guess it's 'Clothes Optional' Day today," Mark mumbles the pointed jab at her attire or lack there of, though obediently pouring her a cup of coffee. After looking through all the cabinets and drawers, he finally finds what he's looking for and places the mug on the floor beside her together with a bendy straw. "Drink up, Leaving Las Vegas, we have a busy day ahead of us and before you have a conniption, you didn't have sex with your best friend. Drunk men can_not_ get it up. Learned that the hard way..."

...

"Remember when I kissed you?" They've only ever exchanged two kisses—one that was kinda mutual or whatever and the other that she gave him—so yeah, it's safe to say that there's a pretty good chance that he remembers the one she's talking about. "I told you not to make a big deal out of it."

They're at the beach with Mark and Mark's boyfriend Brian. She and Freddie are sharing a beach towel sitting, facing the water, both sporting sunglasses to cope with glaring sunny (made worse by their twin hangovers). Mark and Brian are engaged in a battle of wills over the last spam musubi and Sam would shout at them to shut up if they weren't so disgustingly cute. Plus she owes Mark for breakfast.

"And I didn't make a big deal out of it."

She nods slowly, continuing to stare at the water. "I know... But why didn't you?" He turns to face her then but she continues. "I mean, if it had been Carly, you would have pestered her endlessly for answers or explanations. You didn't do that with me."

"You're right."

"Yeah, I know _that_. I just wanna know why."

He shakes his head. "Let's not talk about that, Sam. Anything but that."

She doesn't mean to, but her frustration gets the better of her. "Anything but that," she repeats mockingly. "Right, because you're so damn talkative nowadays that I just pray for you to shut up." Sam stands up because emotions like these require distance and she starts walking away from him to achieve just that. Each step feels painful but she takes every one of them anyway. Suddenly his hand is on her arm and he's stopping her from getting farther than she wishes. So she pushes him away. "For once, I don't want to talk to you."

...

It's been three weeks and there are no signs of him leaving anytime soon.

She worries about him constantly but decides to keep the concern to herself. They've put that day on the beach behind them, though, and so the atmosphere in the house has returned to something companionable.

She's talked to Carly a couple of times since. She told Sam that Freddie's automatically deferred but if he doesn't make it back by the fall semester then he'll end up too far behind. Carly's given her specific instructions to make him go back to New York "no matter what" and Sam's feeling a little helpless—something she's not comfortable with feeling. Just to make it a little bit harder, he's been gaining some weight back, even jogging in the morning and those dark circles under his eyes are nonexistent. She worries what will happen when he goes back but decides that she'll worry about that when it actually happens.

"Mark drove me down to Honolulu today while you were gone," he tells her over dinner.

"Get anything interesting?"

Sam notices that he sits a little straighter, like he's rather proud of himself and there's that familiar sparkle in his eyes that has her looking forward to finding out what he purchased. "Yeah, I picked up a camera," he says and then he goes on and on about how he's been wanting to get into photography and how he misses seeing the world through the lens of the camera and she wants to pull him into a tight hug.

She doesn't, though. Instead she just sits back, happy that he's finding whatever part of himself he seems to have lost in the last two years that she hadn't seen him.

"We should go down to the beach again soon," he tells her between mouthfuls and he looks at her with childlike eyes that she has to agree. But only if he helps her plant pineapple crowns in her backyard tomorrow. He gives a loud 'whoop!' that makes her giggle and throw a slice of ham at him.

(Sometimes, when it feels like old times, she thinks she could die.)

...

They're traveling to the North Shore to spend the day. Sam, in a fit of goodwill and sleepiness, surrenders the steering wheel to Freddie for the entire trip. He babbles on and on about the scenery and how the weather's always perfect. Of course, in the middle of his monologue there's a sudden downpour of rain.

"You have all the luck, Benson," she laughs, as she closes her window to keep the water out, "Perfect weather my perfect behind!"

He joins her in laughing, although she catches him rolling his eyes. The humor is short-lived though as the sudden rain doesn't last for more than ten minutes. They're rounding a curve in the road when they see it.

"Holy..." she hears Freddie whisper from beside her and he pulls up along the shoulder. It's really the most awesome rainbow she's ever seen in her life and it literally takes her breath away that she has to remind herself to inhale.

In a suddenly flurry activity, Freddie grabs his camera bag from the backseat and jumps out of the car. She quickly follows, brows furrowed as she watches him take picture after picture of the rainbow.

"Come on, Sam, lemme take a picture of you and the rainbow."

"Oh, man, Benson, that's gotta be the cheesiest thing I've ever heard you say. Maybe Mark's been rubbing off on you, I don't know."

But he won't take no for answer. He grabs hold of her elbow, then practically drags her to the perfect spot before taking his own place. "Smile," he commands.

She makes a face at him.

"Will you just do this for me, for once just do as I say?"

"Ugh, fine," she relents and smiles.

"Perfect."

...

It's getting ridiculous. Or at least that's what she tells herself. But her life continues to be simple even with the addition of the complication that is Fredward Benson. He's been living on her sofa for a month now and she doesn't know how much longer they (_she_) can go without talking about the elephant that's entirely too large for her living room.

But of course, there's no other house guest as gracious as the nub. She comes home to refrigerator full of food, there's fresh cut hibiscus in a bowl on the kitchen table, every Saturday when she wakes up her car miraculously cleaned. It's especially nice to just have someone _there_. To share meals with her. To share her day with. It's all very temporary, she knows, because he has another life to lead away from her.

It's been a rough day for Sam. One of the kids in her art workshop managed to fall out of a tree during the break and had to be brought to the emergency room. It hadn't been more than a sprained wrist but the worrying had taken a lot out of her, not to mention the having to explain to the boys parents what happened. Yup. Parents really like hearing about how their kid got injured while "under adult supervision". It's never pretty.

She hears voices coming from the kitchen when she enters the house. She knows both voices well, one belonging to Freddie and the other—

"Auntie Helen?"

The pintsize Filipino landlady is sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of tea in her hands, undoubtedly the work of Freddie who is seated to her right. The two seem to be in the middle of a rather pleasant conversation and there's a glint in Auntie Helen's eyes that makes Sam take a step back. This woman has been like a mother to her and she knows that glint far too well to not be afraid of it.

"_Ay_, Sam! There you are _na pala_," she says, her words heavy with the accent that Sam's grown to love. "I was around, you know, in the neighborhood and I thought, 'Maybe I should go see, Samantha!' Because, you know, I haven't seen you in so long and I wanted to say a big thank you for the pineapples that you gave me. And then, I was surprised, _ha_! Because it's not you answering the door but Freddie here is answering your door! He invited me in and even made me tea!"

Translation: _Mark told me you have a boy visiting you. I'm here to make sure that he's a nice man. Oh, and that you're not living in sin. He's nice, though. Maybe you can marry this one._

Sam tries not to blush at all the hidden implications and instead settles into the chair across from the older woman. "I'm glad you came over. I was going to pass by your house tomorrow with the rent and introduce you to Freddie. But I suppose now is as good a time as any."

"That's okay, _iha_." Auntie Helen reaches over to pat her hand. "Freddie's here so it's okay. Don't worry! You and Freddie can come over for dinner tomorrow, _ha_. Mark and Brian are coming too, you know. Don't worry, I make your favorite spam fried rice. _Diba_ that's your favorite?"

Translation: _This requires further observation, however. We'll resume this tomorrow night on my turf. I can see the apprehension in your eyes. Let me bribe you with food._

Sam watches Freddie's eyebrows raise at the mention of spam. He's been there for a month and he _still_ doesn't get it.

"Sounds good, Auntie."

"Do you like spam, Freddie?"

Translation: _You better like spam, young man._

Freddie looks positively bewildered with the question but nods. "Sure, Auntie Helen. Who doesn't like processed meat that comes from a can?"

The smile that Auntie Helen bestows Freddie with is absolutely brilliant; obviously missing the joke completely. Sam groan inwardly, not at all excited for what will happen come tomorrow night.

"Such a nice boy _talaga_." The older woman pushes her chair away from the table and stands up. Freddie, ever the gentleman stands too. Sam just stares at the both of them blankly. "All right you two. I need to go already now. Samantha, I placed a cassava cake in the refrigerator for the two of you, okay? I'll see you tomorrow. Don't forget! _Hay_, I'll call you so you don't forget, _ha_?"

Translation: _You better be there tomorrow or else..._

...

"Are you actually nervous?" Freddie asks her. He has his brand new camera slung over his shoulder in its camera bag and he wears it so proudly but Sam can't even bring herself to make fun of him.

Yes, she's nervous. But she just shrugs and rolls her eyes for added effect. There's no way she's going to admit that to him. Especially since she's not even sure why exactly she's nervous. Well, okay, there's the fact she'll soon be facing what can only be described as a Hawaiian firing squad—deadly yet very, very colorful. "I'm not nervous, Benson," she snaps.

He gives her a knowing look before ringing the doorbell. It swings open barely a second later and Sam automatically knows that they were probably all just waiting on the other side of the door. Hugs are given all around and Brian hands her a glass of coconut juice mixed with sweetened milk.

"Dinner's out on the back porch," he tells her, his blue eyes twinkling. It's just the two of them talking near the stairs while Freddie is showing off his new camera to his enthusiastic audience of two. "You ready, sweetie?"

She can't help but sigh. "I don't know why it's such a big deal. It's not a big deal. Freddie's my best friend. Oh, and he used to be engaged to my other best friend. There are codes of both male and female variety that are against this very thing. So me and him? That's not happening."

"It's a big deal because you haven't dated anyone in _ever_."

"This isn't dating. We're not dating!" she says in a tone that clearly conveys her exasperation.

"Yeah, but he's _someone_. And you know how Auntie gets," Brian points out, a soft smile on his handsome face, "She thinks herself some sort of matchmaker. Insane, yes. But it's kinda adorable."

"You're just saying this so that I'll humor her." The sheepish look he gives Sam tells her everything. She throws her hands up in the air in defeat. "Oh, all right. I'll suffer through this dinner if it'll make everyone happy."

"Aww, look at yourself making an old woman happy!" He makes the mistake of giving her a playful push.

She flicks his forehead. She could have done worse but there's ham on the table that's got her name on it. And for the remainder of the dinner, she makes it a personal goal to always keep her mouth stuffed to ensure minimum possibility of having to answer questions. It's not really anything out of the ordinary her eating her weight in food (which, when you think about it, is an endless cycle but who cares?) but she can still see the smug look on the three's faces and the mildly confused look on one.

Because she doesn't want to think about it. No no no. No thinking.

No thinking why this can't _not_ be a big deal. It just isn't.

"You need to go home," she tells him when they make it back to her place and she can tell that he's about to point out that he is home but he stops himself. "You _need_ to go _home_," she repeats with more meaning before leaving to go to her bedroom.

But his hand is on hers and she's not in the mood to fight him. She feels his hands heavy on her shoulders and she has no choice but to look up at him. He regards her with solemn eyes and she feels herself growing anxious.

"Remember when you kissed me and I didn't make a big deal out of it?"

Oh god. She doesn't want to talk about this. Not while she isn't prepared. But he doesn't give her a choice and she doesn't like not having a choice. It's exactly why she left New York.

"I wanted to..." he starts slowly, his grip on her tightening almost imperceptibly, "I wanted to make a big deal out of it but I respected your wishes because I was afraid of scaring you off. I backed off when all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and let you see how _I_ felt."

Tears splash against her cheeks, hot, wet and unforgiving. "Shut up, Benson," she warns him, but her voice is soft and small. "_Please_."

It's the one word she rarely uses with him that seems to have him cut through him. But it's enough. Because her heart feels like it's been ripped open and all those bottled up emotions that she's carefully stored have been smashed against the wall.

"No, you shut up, _Puckett_. I've been trying to get up the nerve to talk to you about this for the last six years and now that I have you're going to listen to me, okay?"

Life doesn't seem fair all of a sudden. She feels like she's a teenager all over again, standing at a crossroads and having to choose between love and friendship. She can't do it again. Memories of how she agonized over what was a monumental decision for her flashes through her mind. It's unfair. She'd already gone through this heartache before. It doesn't need to happen again. But she nods anyway.

"All right then." He guides her toward the sofa where they sit side by side. "You don't know how long I waited for some sort of sign from you, for some sort of indication that maybe that kiss meant something to you, that it wasn't _just a kiss_ as you so eloquently put it. I never saw it, never got my sign," he stops for a moment to sigh and shake his head as if the memory was thoroughly unpleasant, "We were already living in New York then, all of us attending college and I began to wonder if I would spend the rest of my life waiting for you. Then Carly comes to me with these feelings and I just..."

"You just what? You just thought that it'd be convenient? 'Carly's here so why not just date her?' 'Why not just marry her?' Because you were going to marry her, Freddie. You got down on your knee and you _proposed_." All she can feel and taste in her mouth is bitterness. "So don't try to blame whatever it is that you're trying to blame on _me_. I'm not the reason for your failed relationship or your failed life. Go home. You don't belong here."

She leaves him standing there and goes to her bedroom where she spends the night wide awake and alone, thinking of what-ifs and what-might-have-beens and dreams that she's long forgotten.

The next day, he's gone. All that's left is a black and white photo he took of her while she was planting pineapple crowns in her backyard.

Her heart breaks all over again. Then she gets ready for her day.

...

"No rain, no rainbows," Mark tells her when she manages to get around visiting him at the restaurant.

"What's that even supposed to mean?"

He shrugs and pours her another drink. "Whatever you need it to mean, I guess."

"A happy ending?" she asks hopefully.

Mark pours himself a drink. "To a happy ending," he says and clinks his glass against hers.

...

Carly calls a couple of weeks after he left and though Sam is in no mood to listen to what her best friend has to say, she stays on the line, cradling her mobile between her chin and shoulder while making dinner. She tells Sam things she doesn't want to hear. Things about Freddie and how he's in Seattle, visiting his mother and how he promises to come back to New York by fall for med school. She tells Sam about dating someone she met from work.

"Isn't it too soon after, Freddie?"

"Probably," Carly admits slowly, "But I figure this guy is only going to wait so long. He's a great guy, you know? If I wait until I've gone through the whole customary relationship mourning, he might not be there anymore. You gotta take a chance when you can. You taught me that."

She scoffs. "I did not."

"Yeah, you did."

"Did not!"

"Did, too!"

"Are we really doing this?"

"Yes, yes, we are," Carly manages to say between laughs. "But honestly, Sam. You really did."

"Did not!"

It's true, though. She totally did.

...

It takes her another two weeks before she finally gives in, packs her bags, buys a plane ticket and hops on the plane. She doesn't know what will happen when she gets there, doesn't know what to expect but she's more hopeful than she's been in a while and that's keeping her going.

She doesn't bother dropping by to see her mother. There's a tiny part of her that thinks that if she doesn't go directly to Bushwell Plaza, she'll lose her nerve completely and that's the last she needs when she's flown all the way there. Sam makes it all the way to the familiar door of apartment 8D and lifts her hand to knock. She pauses halfway there, second guessing herself. But then it hits her. She's always second-guessed herself when it comes to Freddie Benson.

Taking a deep breath, she raises her hand again except before she can actually knock on the door, it swings open to reveal Mrs. Benson.

Sam bites back a sigh of a relief, despite the fact that the older woman is fairly stunned to see her standing outside her doorway. "Mrs. Benson, is Freddie home?" she asks more politely than she's ever managed when speaking to Marissa Benson.

Freddie's mother, still slightly bewildered by the sight of her, moves wordlessly aside to let Sam in. "He's out on the fire escape," she finally says, "I'll be going out now."

Sam nods distractedly as she silently makes her way to the familiar fire escape. There's music drifting through the open window and the poignancy is almost too much to bear. But she makes it the few steps to the window sill and sits down, watching Freddie Benson looking at her. If he's anywhere near surprised to see her, he's rather good at hiding it.

"So," she begins, and she's never been so sure and unsure of something in her life, "You never told me why you came to Hawaii."

"I needed to see you," he replies evenly and without emotion.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Just did."

She frowns at him. "Are you trying to make this as difficult for me as possible?"

"Yes, yes I am." He smiles a little but his eyes don't meet hers. "Don't tell me you went all the way here just to ask me that question. How about you ask me the questions you really want to know the answers to?"

"Fine. Why now? Why not two years ago? Why didn't you come after me when I left then?"

He looks at her then, eyebrow raised. "Is that what you wanted? Is that why you left? You wanted me to follow you?"

"I don't know!" She squeezes her eyes shut in exasperation and drops her head onto her hands. "I don't know, okay? God... why is this so complicated?"

"Because we're Sam and Freddie," is his simple and perfect answer, "All we've ever been is complicated. I don't think we know how to be anything else."

Except she wanted more.

Sam nods solemnly and sighs. "I was scared," she admits softly, "I knew if anyone could break me, it would be you. You're right. I pushed you away. I sat back and watched as you and Carly... as you and Carly... Well, you know. I didn't think it'd go so far, honestly. When you proposed to her, I couldn't stick around anymore. I could watch you and her... So I left."

"We're such idiots."

They both laugh at the awful truth. She doesn't feel better now that the truth is out. It still feels like her gut is twisted in painful knots and she doesn't know what else she can do or say to make things better.

"Is it too late?" she asks him earnestly.

He pushes himself off his chair and sits beside her. "You tell me."

And because they're in Seattle and because they're Sam and Freddie, it starts to rain. Big, fat drops of water splash against her face and she involuntarily opens her mouth to catch some rain on her tongue.

"I'm going back to New York," he tells her. "Gonna finish med school."

"I know."

"When do you need to go back to Kailua?"

She brushes the hair, damp now, from her face. "A week from now."

"Let's not waste any time then." He hops down from the window and onto the dry hallway of his apartment. "Come on."

...

It takes a while to get that happy ending. Almost three years, in fact.

She comes home one day and there's a huge yet a familiar duffel bag on her porch swing. Laughing, she runs into the house.

...

"Those pineapples aren't going to pick themselves, after all," he whispers in her ear as he holds her tight.

...

**Author's Notes:**

To clarify the back story: Sam, Carly and Freddie all studied in NY for college. Sam left for Hawaii after graduating from college hence Freddie being in med school.

I'm not from Hawaii. Apologies if anything pertaining to Hawaii is incorrect as my only source of information is the internet and the one time I went for a visit a few years ago when I thirteen. However, I do have a pretty good source for my Filipino stuff so I'm confident about that part!

By now, it's probably come to your attention that I have an inclination for future fic. This might be because almost all my other ships aren't canon and writing future fics are a convenient resort. I do have one plot bunny that's been nagging me that could work as a high school fic. I do really wanna try my hand at something high school that isn't angsty.

Also, and this is _not_ a whine, by the way, just me wondering about reviewing in general... But I've always tried to avoid asking for reviews because I know you shouldn't push people into reviewing. But _does_ asking for reviews really work? I'd never hold my fic hostage for the sake of getting more reviews and I'm quite happy with the ones that I do get. I do get more people clicking on the favorites than reviewing so at least I know that they like it. :) I guess I'm just kinda curious to know if I'd get more reviews if I did. Haha! Okay, Imma stop babbling now!

Hope everyone enjoys reading this!


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